


Snapshots through the Years

by TheRavenintheMoon



Series: Long Lost Souls [25]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Elfebruary2018, F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 01:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 12,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13823388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRavenintheMoon/pseuds/TheRavenintheMoon
Summary: A group of elves manages to somehow form a family as time passes.A collection of vignettes drawn from the Elfebruary challenge prompts on tumblr. Crossposting from my tumblr, this time in chronological order, rather than in prompt order.





	1. Celebration

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Blizzard owns World of Warcraft. There's a lot of references to canon game locations, quests, and the occasional npc. I own none of that, but I hope it gives a good sense of when and where in the world my characters are at any given time. I own all of my characters.

**_Prologue: Present Day_ **

_**Celebration, or Snapshots through the Years** _

A carefully collected cluster of pictures in various forms was stacked in the attic of a small home in Darnassus. The inhabitants were in the process of moving somewhere bigger, somewhere a little less hemmed in by the city surrounding them. The youngest of them had made it her solemn duty to catalog all the bits and pieces that were being moved. So far, she had found a stack of blacksmith's notes, a box of diaries decorated with pressed flowers, and these pictures. She dropped to her knees, pulling each out and examining it, before carefully describing it in her own notebook and setting it in the big box she had brought up to collect odds and ends.

\--

[Fey's notes: Attic/Box #4]

1\. An old, faded portrait, the hair, clothes, and some background gold accents glimmering brighter with a touch of magic to the paint, found in a druid’s home in Val’sharah: Three couples. First, the back of a blue-haired man stepping lightly to the side of a woman with violet hair and a small smile. Second, the back of a midnight-blue-haired woman, dress much less conservatively cut than the other two, ending a spin with a deep-emerald-haired man smiling in obvious delight. Third, the back of a light-green-haired woman dancing close to a ruby-haired woman, mid-laugh. The pavilion behind them is decorated to suggest the Lunar festival.

  
2\. A folded picture, once kept in the bottom of a jewelry box in a small building near Nordrassil: A family. On one side of the fold, a mother and father watch proudly. On the other, a very young girl, teal-haired, crowned with flowers slipping down around her ears, dances barefoot beneath festival fireworks.

  
3\. A crayon drawing, clearly a child’s work, though the child was old enough to line reasonable approximations of her subjects, and show the raw beginnings of true talent, once hung in a forge in Darnassus: A deep-green haired woman stands tall, next to a blue-haired child. The rest of the page is decorated with festival foods and bursts of color that denote fireworks. Scrawled across the bottom are the words “First Lunar Festival Together!!”

  
4\. A S.E.L.F.I.E. snap slightly mangled, folded inside a short missive, found on the commander’s desk in the Alliance garrison on Draenor: Two young women. The short-white-haired woman has an arm around the blue-haired camera holder. Both are making silly faces. The site of the Moonglade festival is seen obliquely behind them. The missive reads, “Writing this by the light of the fireworks. Wish you guys were here!”

5\. A photograph of a family, taken through the window of an inn in Dalaran by a faded-pink-haired death knight—The second couple from the portrait, the woman who once danced beneath the fireworks, her partner the blacksmith who rescued a child, the young woman that child became, and the young huntress who found her way to them. A note left with it claims she meant to save the photograph to present at next year’s Lunar Festival. After all, with the Legion’s defeat, there would be no reason for them to be separated in one year’s time. They could make this a tradition.


	2. A Sudden Vacation

_**A Very Long Time Ago** _

_**Dezideran and Niniyv** _

****“Vacation?” Niniyv asked. “What’s that?”  
  
Dezideran looped an arm around her waist. “Very funny, my dear. I need herbs. The best place to get them is at,” he gestured to a point on the map he had laid out, “this pond, on the full moon, in spring. It is spring. It will be full moon by the time we get there, if we leave tomorrow.”  
  
“Tomorrow, hmm?” Niniyv said turning in his embrace, and running a finger down his jawline. “What if I have plans?”  
  
Dez lifted an eyebrow. “And what might those be?”  
  
Niniyv squinted at him, then leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to his lips. “Fine, fine. You’d better hope the weather holds, darling, I’m not riding for three days in the rain for some sodden herbs.”  
  
He released her with a grin. “Well, it’s not just about the herbs. We could take a few days, go camping, spend some time…”  
  
Niniyv already had her head in the wardrobe, but she turned, smirking, and brandishing a pack at him. “Not if you don’t help me with this, we won’t.”  
  
He caught the pack, his grin widening. “Race you?” he asked, reaching for a clean cloak.  
  
“Loser does the dishes?” she asked. He nodded. Later that night, he did the dishes.


	3. Losing Someone Important

_**The Sundering** _

_**Dezideran and Niniyv** _

****The sky boiled, the unnatural clouds lit with a terrible green light. As far away as their small town was from the epicenter, it didn’t look like it was going to be enough. Rain began to fall as sickly lightning spiked out from above the Well of Eternity, somewhere in the distance. The rain burned.  
  
“I can get us away from here,” Dezideran said quietly. Messengers went door to door, “hurry, hurry, we have a mage with a portal…”  
  
Niniyv waited, clutching Kirielle’s hand, as the townsfolk poured through Dez’s portal. There were rumblings, maybe something was coming, maybe it was the land itself. It was hard to tell. Dez looked at her, straining to hold the spell. “There’s only a few people left,” he said. “You need to go, Niniyv.” She started to shake her head, but the ground heaved, rolled. Dez nearly lost his concentration. “Go, now. Please.”  
  
She’d never heard that kind of urgency in his voice before. Kirielle began sobbing with fear as the ground lurched again. Niniyv met Dez’s eyes. “See you on the other side,” she said. She picked Kirielle up, closed her eyes, and ran through the portal. She waited. The portal closed. Dez didn’t come through.


	4. First Adventure

_**A Long Time Ago: Darnassus** _

_**Feyarin and Crystabel** _

Feyarin was not going to be a priestess. Between the lectures on discipline she received and the whispers about sorcery she sometimes overheard, she knew for a fact that the priestesses in charge of orphans’ education did not want her hanging around any longer than necessary. Why, then, should she bother sitting in boring lessons that weren’t going to help her in the long run?  
  
It was too easy to sneak out of the garden where she and some of the other orphans were supposed to be meditating. Dropping over the ledge, she hid for a moment in a bush, out of breath with her own audacity. Since she couldn’t hear any commotion back up in the garden, she slipped away down the side of the road, bare feet trailing through the grass. Once she’d started walking, she sniffed, and followed the smell of baking bread.  
  
Her eyes widened when she finally came across the bakery several minutes later. Fixated on the sight of such lovely cakes, she bumped into another girl as she began to cross the grass towards the window.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
Fey blinked up at the white-haired child, a little older than she was. The girl was holding a purse with the careful, puffed-up importance of a job that had been entrusted to her. “Sorry,” Fey said brightly. “I just wanted to look at the cakes.”  
  
The other girl’s nose twitched. “I’m not supposed to. I have to buy the bread and go straight home.”  
  
But as Fey bounced to her feet and went to the window, the other girl followed. For one long moment, the two stared longingly at the frosted sugary goodness. Then the door opened with a creak, and the baker poked her head out. “Are you going to come in? Or just stand there, mouths watering?”  
  
The girls jumped, the white-haired one holding out exactly the amount of money she’d been told. “I need some bread, please,” she said, carefully rehearsed. The baker leaned over.  
  
“And what about you?” Her voice was kind.  
  
Fey’s lips twisted. “‘M just looking,” she mumbled, acutely aware that she had no money, and that she wasn’t supposed to be here. The baker frowned a moment, then waved a hand.  
  
“Come on in, anyway,” she said. She carefully wrapped the other girl’s bread, and then she winked conspiratorially. She gestured to a case of cooling cookies, and said, “One each. And don’t go telling everyone what a soft heart I am.”  
  
Eagerly, the girls each picked a soft, warm, chocolatey cookie, thanked the baker profusely, and ran outside giggling to settle on the grass nearby and savor their spoils. It was nice, Fey thought, sitting here with something sweet to eat and company that didn’t look at her sideways. In the future, she would do things like this often. She would make it so.


	5. Lullaby

_**A Long Time Ago: Darnassus** _

_**Feyarin and Kirielle** _

****The room was very warm, Feyarin thought. Almost suffocatingly so, after the big drafty bedroom where all the orphans her age stayed near the temple. She wanted to kick off her blanket, but every time she had found the nerve to do so, another odd creak pierced the dark. Sometimes a whoosh of the forge fire downstairs settling, or a light clank followed the creaking. Fey wondered what the blacksmith could be doing this late at night. She wondered if all houses sounded this way, or if it was only rooms above blacksmith’s shops that were so strangely loud.  
  
She flopped over again, trying to find a cool space in the bed the blacksmith had made up for her in one of the storage rooms. She wondered if the blacksmith hated how warm her actual bedroom must be, pressed up against one of the chimneys. She wondered if the blacksmith regretted letting the priestess bully her into adopting a child, and one as potentially dangerous as Fey, and if that was why she was still downstairs, still, apparently, working.  
  
She buried her face in her pillow, trying to stifle the sob that threatened to break as the thought washed through her. She didn’t know if this was going to be better than staying at the orphanage, but she didn’t want to go back.  
  
Just before she began to cry in earnest, a soft hum began below. Fey sniffled, straining to listen. The hum grew louder, slipping over to words. Fey was too far away to make out what the actual words were, but the melody was gentle, falling like rain in the warm air of the smithy. Trying to listen, Fey’s eyelids grew heavy. The blacksmith was still singing when Fey finally fell asleep.


	6. First Snow

_**A Few Months After Lullaby: On the Road to Winterspring** _

_**Feyarin and Kirielle** _

Feyarin sat awkwardly on the borrowed nightsaber, pestering Kirielle with questions. The blacksmith, to her credit, patiently answered every one, though after a week of travel, the merchants in the small caravan they were accompanying east were beginning to grumble at the incessant stream of chatter. Fey didn’t care. She’d never been off of Teldrassil, at least not to remember it, and she wasn’t about to squander the opportunity to learn about the lands around her before they arrived in Winterspring.  
  
The girl knew Kirielle had been hesitant to bring her new ward on such a long journey—something about meeting the miners who supplied her ore; Fey hadn’t much cared why. But she was eager to prove to her guardian that she wouldn’t be a burden. And while Felwood was making her skin crawl, she had been promised that Winterspring was well worth the few days’ discomfort.  
  
As they entered the cavern—the merchants negotiating with the furbolg who held the pass—a slight itch began to grow in Feyarin’s palms. She glanced at Kirielle and bit her lip, suddenly worried. Fey knew that Kirielle didn’t care that she had magical capabilities, knew that Kirielle had taken her in because of the way the temple had treated her with such suspicion, but it was still difficult to bring it up. Especially when she could feel it building, calling out to something ahead of them. In the end, habit won out and she stayed silent.  
  
Light grew at the end of the tunnel. A furbolg stepped forward, halting the caravan. Fey caught something about bad weather, but she couldn’t stop. She nudged her nightsaber forward, hardly hearing Kirielle’s call as she stepped out into a whirling wall of white. The sensation startled a laugh out of her, a gust of cold bursting from her palms to swirl into the blizzard around her.  
  
“Feyarin!” Kirielle shouted, struggling through the wind to stand next to her. The cave’s entrance was a dark smudge behind them, still in sight. Fey wanted to run into the wild, to let the storm fill her up. Kirielle’s warm hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Are you okay?” the blacksmith called over the wind.  
  
Fey blinked and Kiri froze for a moment, staring at the girl’s icily glowing eyes. “What?” Fey asked. When the blacksmith didn’t respond, she said, more tentatively, “Kirielle?”  
  
The blacksmith shook herself. “It’s nothing. C’mon, before you freeze.”  
  
Fey wanted to tell her guardian that there was very little chance of her freezing, not when she wanted to fly into pieces and blow where the wind would take her, drifting into a blanket that knew the landscape as well as the back of her own hand, but she pulled her power back into her, tamped it down tight so that the merchants wouldn’t see it and make them leave. As Kirielle gently led her back into the cave, a sort of regret on her face, Fey looked back at the blowing snow. One day, she would find some way to master this magic. Maybe then, she wouldn’t feel quite so lost in the storm.


	7. Bitter Truth

_**The War in Northrend: Valiance Keep** _

_**Kirielle and Aeternita** _

****“Ravensmoon?” The elven death knight looked Kirielle over with darkened eyes. “Yes, I see it in you now.”  
  
The young warrior frowned, arms crossed uncomfortably under the undead woman’s scrutiny. “What of it?” she asked, when the woman continued to stare at her.  
  
“They said they were sending a hero.”  
  
Kiri looked away, shaking her head. “I’m not a hero—” she began to protest.  
  
“No?” The death knight’s gaze intensified. “Your mother was a legend, before she walked off on her fool’s errand. You look like her. Oh, you have your father’s coloring, but the shape of your face, the way you stand…though she certainly preferred larger, riskier weapons than that shield you carry. Pity he was the real hero in the end. You might have had a chance, if you took after him.”  
  
“Fool’s errand?” Kirielle asked, brow furrowing as she leaned forward. “She left because she had unfinished business—”  
  
“Child, she’s a demon hunter. She was seduced by whispers of power. She was no hero, just a fool willing to throw away everything she ever had, and for what?” The death knight grinned at the hurt and bewilderment blossoming on the young warrior’s face. “You take care now, Ravensmoon. This land bites almost as badly as the demons. You make sure you stay out of your mother’s footsteps.”   
  
“I—” But the death knight was gone before Kiri could even begin to formulate a response, her last childish illusions shattering in the cold air.


	8. Lost

_**The War in Northrend: The Road to Dragonblight** _

_**Kirielle and Aeternita** _

__The bitter cold would have been easier to bear if Kirielle had known where, exactly, she was. No wonder the messenger hadn’t been able to make it through; the blowing snow had piled up through the day, changing the entire landscape as the warrior had travelled further northeast. Now, in the clear, frigid night, she had scraped together a tiny, sputtering fire of thawing sticks in a shallow cave.  
  
Snow crunched outside, ominously loud in the still night. Kiri readied her shield, regretting that she had chosen this cave for its proximity rather than its size. Keeping her head ducked clear of the roof, she waited.  
  
The first nerubian that rushed her small fire in a flail of limbs was met with a shield bash that knocked it back into its fellows. Swallowing hard, Kiri was suddenly glad that she had a wall at her back, and a narrow choke point to hold. At least it was warmer, now that she was up and fighting.  
  
Still they came. The fire sputtered smaller, untended. Just as Kiri was beginning to worry that she would be fighting these things in the dark, footsteps crunched on the snow outside. The nerubian closest to the exit turned, concerned, giving Kiri a chance to finish off the two that had crowded in. She slipped out, stabbing at the one that now had its back to her. In the moonlight, a death knight swung a huge blade, reaping the skittering nerubians in several easy strokes. Kiri stayed wary, her shield up in case this death knight was hostile.  
  
With the nerubians dead, the death knight stepped forward. “Oh. It’s you.”  
  
Kirielle lowered her shield slightly. “Aeternita, wasn’t it?” she asked.  
  
“Young Ravensmoon. I see you did not take my advice.”  
  
“I can hardly up and leave the war,” Kiri spat. “I’m not trying to prove a point. I’m just trying to help.”  
  
The death knight sized her up again, this time a little less dismissively. She snorted, “Hrmph. Then I suppose you’ll be pleased to know that you are exactly halfway between two settlements, each in need of _help_.”  
  
Kiri bent her head in acknowledgement. The death knight frowned at her silence. “You’re not lost, are you?”  
  
“No, I’m some kind of daredevil trying to see just how cold I can get before I freeze,” Kiri snapped. Then she ducked her head further, sighing. “It was snowing, earlier,” she offered by way of explanation.  
  
Aeternita’s eyes darkened, lost for a moment in some distant memory. “Very well, then. This way, Ravensmoon. Try not to lose anything too important before we get there.” And she strode off, not once glancing back to see the warrior scrambling to grab her pack and follow.


	9. Empty Threat

_**The War in Northrend: The Heart of Dragonblight** _

_**Aeternita and Kirielle** _

__“Pick up the pace, Ravensmoon, or I’ll leave you for the scavengers.”  
  
Aeternita could practically feel the warrior’s frown on her back. She knew Kirielle didn’t trust her, but, well. She was the one who had said the birth blessing over Niniyv’s child. Whatever Niniyv had become--indeed, whatever Aeternita had become--some loyalties ran far too deep. Seeing Kirielle had caused a warmth of feeling to blossom in Aeternita’s cold heart. She wasn’t sure she’d call it affection. Perhaps it was nostalgia. After all, nothing had seemed quite as bright after the sundering, after she and Niniyv had gone their separate ways.  
  
Perhaps, saving this child--no longer a child, but still so _young_ \--was the only way Aeternita knew how to prove she could still preserve life.  
  
She slowed her pace just a little, at the sound of the warrior struggling against the wind that Aeternita didn’t even feel. She hoped Kirielle didn’t notice. Whatever she felt, that was no reason to make things easy between them. After all, she didn’t want sympathy, or forgiveness. There was a long road ahead of her still, before she could accept that.


	10. Fate

_**Just After the Cataclysm: Darnassus** _

_**Kirielle** _

__The archdruid stood uncomfortably in the closed-in smithy, trying not to make eye contact with the worgen behind the counter. The night elf he had come to see was sitting at a worktable, something decorative and delicate taking shape under her hands. She finally looked up when he began to fidget.  
  
“Was there something you needed?” Kirielle asked politely. “I’m sure my apprentice can handle it.”  
  
“I really don’t think she can. I was sent from Nordrassil, by a member of the green dragonflight. It’s urgent.”  
  
“Then you should have said something sooner.” Kirielle gripped a metal stick, carefully worked to look like a tree branch, and shoved herself to her feet. She leaned heavily on the cane as she came around the workbench. “Was there something you needed?” she repeated, slowly and politely.  
  
“We need a bodyguard, and everyone says you are the best.” He eyed her unsteady stance uncertainly.  
  
Kiri huffed a laugh. “Used to be.” She tapped at her leg briefly with her cane. “If you think your dragon can trust whoever this is to ‘used to be’...” She let the sentence trail off, certain that the answer would be “No.”  
  
Pursing his lips, the archdruid said, “Hyjal is burning. They need someone to help this...this healer...to. I don’t even know, but somehow the dragon seems to think she can fix it.”  
  
There was a skepticism to the way he said it that made Kirielle suspicious. “Who is this healer?” she asked.  
  
“That’s just it,” the archdruid snapped. “She’s nobody. But rumor has it the Dreamer herself requested this...green...untried…” He flapped a hand, words failing him.  
  
So that was it. They weren’t going to try to find someone better, not for a dragon’s whim. Not for something that looked like a longshot rather than fate.  
  
“Lynara,” Kirielle said, turning to the worgen. “I do apologize, but I think I have to go to Nordrassil. Will you be able to find somewhere to stay for a while?”  
  
The worgen dipped her head. “It’s been a few months. I’ve made friends since I was lucky enough to catch your attention. I’ll be fine.”  
  
Kirielle grinned disarmingly at the archdruid. “Very well, then. I will see to this healer. If she can keep me standing, I can keep her safe. I’ll make my way there as soon as possible.”  
  
Sourly, the archdruid said, “We have a hippogryff waiting.” He turned and stalked out without another word. Kirielle sighed. She’d been itching for something to do since the war in Northrend had ended, but escorting a healer who had never seen combat? It wasn’t how she’d imagined getting out, or going out. It was a terrible idea. But, well, she’d been nobody once. She had to help.  
  
She sighed, already making plans to make sure Feyarin was taken care of. “I guess I’d better pack my things.”


	11. Memento

_**After the Cataclysm: Darnassus** _

_**Feyarin** _

__It was such a little thing, this ice blue crystal, nestled in the palm of her hand. A set of three intertwined snowflakes had been painstakingly chiseled into the face of it. Feyarin had worn the edges smooth, turning the trinket in her hand when she was stressed, or meditating, or concentrating on her studies. Kirielle had told her that the temple had found the crystal wrapped up in her baby clothing the day they rescued her. It was all that was left of her family, whoever they had been. Fey often wondered if it had been left deliberately in the hopes she would have something of them to hold on to. In her darker moods, when she wondered if she had been abandoned, she thought it must have been oversight, forgetfulness, that left her with so small and tenuous a link.  
  
“Feyarin!” She whipped her head up guiltily to meet the eyes of her teacher. “Let me see that.” Reluctantly, she held up the crystal. The old highborne had made it clear that if she was to succeed in her studies, she was to obey. She knew it wouldn’t sit well with her guardian, but she also knew that the only other alternative was to leave Darnassus to learn magecraft from someone else. She didn’t want to leave, so she said nothing. She really hoped her silence had not led to losing her trinket.  
  
But for once, the old woman did not snatch at what Fey held. Instead, she traced the shape of a delicate spell over the crystal in Fey’s hand. Frost coated the crystal harmlessly, blue light pouring around the frosty pattern. Fey watched the light play, mesmerized, eyes straining to make sense of the shifting light—it dimmed too quickly for her to see. Her teacher closed Fey’s fingers over the crystal. “I think that is something best left for you to learn to unlock, child. I would not dream of witnessing something so clearly meant for you. It may take you some time to figure it out, but even with just the glimpse of it, I believe that you will find the answers you seek. Some day.”  
  
Fey stared up at her for a long moment, blinking slowly. “My parents…shared my power?”  
  
“Of course, child,” her teacher snapped, as if it had been obvious all along. “Now get back to work, or you will never manage more than a light dusting of snow.”  
  
Fey bent her head back to her studies, tucking the crystal carefully into its customary pocket. “Someday,” she whispered, and let out a breath of frosty air before picking up her book again.


	12. A Long Day

_**After the Cataclysm: Ashenvale** _

_**Crystabel** _

__Astranaar was burning. One would think, in the aftermath of the mountain dominating the landscape suddenly exploding into a volcano, that the Horde had better things to fight than the Alliance, but news and survivors were already straggling in from the southeast--Silverwing had fallen, and everywhere else was under attack.  
  
Astranaar was no exception. Crystabel was only just old enough in her mother’s eyes to travel for the family business. She was regretting her eagerness to step into that role now. Little in the way of parts and schematics were going to come out of Astranaar in the near future.  
  
Although she was a creditable shot with a longbow, she was relegated to the bucket line. Perhaps it was because she was a visitor, perhaps it was because she still looked as young as she was. She chafed under the heavy buckets, searching for a bow out of reach when the Horde fliers curved overhead. There were heroes in town, slowly clearing them out. Just as slowly, the fires died down. The town was still standing, still theirs.  
  
That night, covered in ash, exhausted, she was somehow able to sleep despite the pall of smoke that still hung in the air. She didn’t notice how many other young men and women--eager to fight for their home for the first time--slept fitfully, if at all. She didn’t know yet that the woman who had handed her a bucket had, in fact, meant only the best for her.


	13. Lazy Morning

_**Sometime After the Fall of Deathwing: Mount Hyjal** _

_**Kirielle and Meliraea** _

__A soft, pre-dawn glow suffused the grass outside the tent. The campfire had long since been snuffed, and the light of the last few stars burned far overhead. Kirielle woke, rolling over to massage a twinge out of her bad leg. Peering out the open tent flap, she saw Meliraea silhouetted against the dawn, head tipped back, watching the sunglow swallow the stars.  
  
She couldn’t smother a smile at the sight, though she tried. Whatever this was, it was as new and fresh as the verdure around them. And to think, just last year, she had thought playing bodyguard with a bad leg for a healer who had never seen combat would be a bad idea. But here they were, alive and well, responsible for the restoration of Hyjal and the fall of the Firelands. Or, here she was, watching Mel, when she could be holding her instead.  
  
Stifling a groan, Kirielle crawled out of the tent and over to the healer. It took her a long moment to rearrange herself comfortably, before she leaned over, wrapping an arm around Mel’s shoulders. Meliraea leaned into the touch. The sun had slipped a little higher when Mel finally turned her head, pressing small kisses along Kirielle’s jaw. Kiri hummed, shifting to meet Mel in a proper kiss. They lingered there, until the sun had cleared the horizon, before deciding breakfast could wait, and curling up to get some more sleep, cuddled together for most of the morning.


	14. Surprise Gift

_**Not Long After the Lazy Morning: Darnassus** _

_**Meliraea and Feyarin** _

****Meliraea woke to the smell of smoke. Pushing away the lingering sense of unsettled dreams, the smell of bacon just beginning to burn caused her to leap from bed, cat-dashing down to the kitchen. She scrambled to a halt just inside, the pleasant cacophony of breakfast on the brink of disaster wrapping around her.  
  
“Mel!” Feyarin called cheerfully. “Kiri left early, but I thought you might like some food?”  
  
Mel stared at the girl for a long moment, cat eyes unblinking. She still wasn’t sure what she meant to Kirielle’s ward, nor what the young mage meant to her. Mel’s silence hadn’t stopped Fey from freezing part of the cooking flame down without a thought, rescuing the bacon, and turning back to stirring the eggs in a moment. When the girl didn’t think about magic, she was an absolute natural. Trying to finely control it was still something elusive. But that was something that would come with time, Mel knew.  
  
Breakfast, on the other hand, was well within the girl’s grasp. Mel stood, scooping up some peppers and carving a wedge of cheese off the block before coming around to stand next to Fey. “Here,” she said, beginning to slice the peppers with a deft knife. “Try adding a little of this—”  
  
“Oooh,” Fey hummed. They cooked together for the next few moments, Mel spicing up Fey’s plain eggs and bacon. It was surprising, this moment of calm. Maybe Mel could get used to having a family after all.

 


	15. Failure

_**Cleansing the Sha from Shado-Pan Monastery: Kun-Lai Summit** _

_**Kirielle** _

****The last thing Kiri clearly remembered was the grumpy pandaren closing the gates of the Shado-Pan monastery behind her group. Dindrane had met with their contact; as they’d stood, waiting, a chill whisper had slid through Kiri’s mind…  
  
It was the strangest thing. She knew this was Pandaria, that these pandaren were merely suffering under the corruption of the sha and that they deserved mercy. But that strange whisper froze her blood, overlaid the snowy peak with a deeper cold, a darker snow. Insidious, she wondered if this wasn’t some new Scourge trick. Better to be sure, she thought. It took everything in her friends’ power to stop her killing the uncorrupted pandaren that sought merely to protect their own.   
  
They told her, when she woke, that they had cleansed the monastery of both violence and hatred. Now, while they worked to clear a path beyond the wall, Kiri waited, left behind. Sitting beside the monastery’s clear springs, she stared blankly out over the mountain’s edge. Clasped in the hand propping up her head was a dagger’s pommel stone, carved with her symbol—a raven perched in the crook of the crescent moon. She’d inherited it from her mother. For the first time, Kiri wondered if she hadn’t inherited more than just a name.


	16. Sweetness

_**Sometime before the Second Opening of the Dark Portal: Darnassus** _

_**Feyarin and Crystabel** _

__Feyarin pulled a tray from the oven, setting it carefully on the small table. Crystabel leaned forward, eyes narrowed, sniffing cautiously. “Hmmm,” she murmured. “So this is the famous secret recipe, is it?”  
  
Feyarin bounced into the seat across from her friend. “Yep!”  
  
Crystabel propped her chin on her hands, still analyzing the cooling cookies. “They look like regular chocolate chips.”  
  
“Mmhm!” Fey nodded.   
  
“However,” Crystabel said, delicately gripping a too hot cookie, “the scent of cinnamon in the kitchen rather gives the game away.”  
  
Fey laughed. “That’s what I said, the first time Kiri made them. She said it wasn’t so much a special recipe as it was special who she chose to share them with.” She bit her lip, edging forward on her seat a little.  
  
Crystabel took a bite, attempting to blow on the cookie after it was already too late. But she grinned at Feyarin after she swallowed.  
  
“Mmm,” she murmured. “Sweet.”  
  
“You like them?” Fey asked.  
  
Setting the rest of the cookie aside, Crystabel leaned forward over the table. “I do,” she said quietly, before pressing a soft first kiss to Fey’s lips.


	17. Portal

_**Not Long After the Second Opening of the Dark Portal: Darnassus** _

_**Feyarin and Crystabel** _

__Crystabel found Feyarin hunched over her desk in the flickering candlelight, staring blankly at the page of a book open in front of her. Leaning forward, Crystabel pressed her hands against Fey’s shoulders, trying to massage some of the taut worry away. “They’ll be fine, you know. Communication has been reopened, and every hero in the world is already there helping.”  
  
“And if it’s not enough?” Fey asked.  
  
“Sitting here, re-reading the same sentence over and over because you are exhausted won’t help.”  
  
Fey sighed. “I know, I know. I just keep thinking, with the Dark Portal destroyed, they might end up trapped on Draenor. They might—”  
  
“The greatest mages currently living are over there as well. Your parents will be fine, Fey. Get some sleep.”  
  
Feyarin stood, kissed Crystabel’s cheek, and sighed again. “Only because you insist.” But as soon as she fell asleep, she dreamed again of the Portal going dark, and everyone she cared about falling forever through the Twisting Nether. Waking up, gritty-eyed, she vowed that tomorrow she would just read.


	18. (Foreign) Cuisine

_**Not Long Before the Legion's Invasion of Azeroth: Darnassus** _

__Meliraea should have known better than to ask adventurers to cook. The potluck table was a cacophony of various dishes, soups cooling, the scent of spices clashing. She honestly wasn’t sure how edible some of this was--Dindrane’s dish, in particular, looked like overdone chicken and underdone rice. But the food had never really been the point of all this.  
  
Settling into a seat next to Kirielle, picking a cookie from Kiri’s plate full of desserts, Mel surveyed the long table with contentment. Hravn and Val were arguing about the usefulness of gnomish cooking pots, the ones with all the bells and whistles, versus the good old dwarven roasting fire with Shalewyn. Lynara rather thought Gilnean cuisine could benefit from both techniques. Ixaara and Brisenn were trading draenic recipes for pandaren, though both of them were being corrected on specifics by those around them. Dindrane, it turned out, hadn’t brought chicken and rice at all, though Hravn had slapped an illusion over the plate of pasta salad to tease her friend.   
  
The blend of voices, new friends and old, swept over the table for several hours. There was no pause as the night grew darker, several mages conjuring fairy lights that winked in the air to keep the party going. Lingering long after all the food was gone, Mel could only hope that maybe they could find the time to do this more often. The food may not have been the point of the gathering, but it certainly was capable of bringing everyone together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally all of my Alliance characters are probably present here. A few of those mentioned have appeared in previous installments in this series. The rest might make later appearances.


	19. Regret

_**Very Shortly After Dalaran's Move to the Broken Shore: Skyhold** _

_**Kirielle** _

_____“I may die—but I’ll take you with me!” The shoreline was engulfed in green, and then her vision went white._  
  
“I am not a hero.”  
  
The words echoed in the depths of some memory just out of reach. Scrambling to remember, she caught flashes of other moments, letting them slip through her fingers.  
  
First, bare rock, dark, cracked, pocked with acidic green. A wide courtyard opened before her, the ruins of the Dark Portal framing a falling eredar—Hellfire Citadel looming in the near distance.  
  
Second, a wash of bravado, of fear, of rage, of resignation. She was wrapped in something violet and dark, swirling with fragments of swallowed light—a swirling rush of energy pulsing away from her outstretched hands as the sha collapsed and broke apart.  
  
Third, an unbearable heat, fire so bright it hurt to look directly at the hazy landscape. The heat was worse in the bowels of the flaming palace, even as the Firelord’s blaze sputtered, the dropped bindings smoking in the sudden faded ember’s glow.  
  
Last, a val’kyr, wreathed in the frosted breath of a shadowed land, a ghost’s voice behind, crying “It is not your time, heroes.” As if those who had so easily fallen to the Lich King’s blade were worthy of such a title. Even as Arthas finally fell, she had wondered if she deserved this second chance.  
  
She wished, now, that she had known then what a difference she could make. She wished she had known that it was easier to be a hero than to believe herself one. She wished that she could take this knowledge and throw it against the demons now invading with such renewed vigor that only everyone, standing together, would have a chance of turning the tide. A small, treacherous part of her, standing shakily on wounds never healed, wished she could forget what people called her, wished she could set it all down and rest.  
  
The golden val’kyr slowly materialized out of the mess of memory and the heat haze of the pit lord’s death throes. “Don’t worry,” the val’kyr said. “You were snatched away a moment before your death. You are still alive.”  
  
Kirielle stood, both legs firmly beneath her in a golden hall. The val’kyr seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. “There is no weakness here. Old wounds may trouble you when you return to the floating city. I do not know. It has never been a concern before.”  
  
“When I return?” Kirielle asked numbly.  
  
“Of course,” the val’kyr said. “You still have work to do.”  
  
Kirielle sighed, knowing she would always wonder which she would have regretted more—facing her end now with so much left undone, or somehow finding the strength to take a third chance to live.


	20. City

_**All Letters are Postmarked Dalaran** _

_**Kirielle** _

1\. Arrival **-** The War in Northrend **  
**_Dear Fey,  
        You would like it here, I think. The spires tower over the rest of the common city, but they are spaced in such a way that light glints off the cobbles in the streets. If you could ever be coaxed from the library, you would paint such wonderful landscapes. The war is…well, it’s progressing. I think we are winning. Stay safe, I’ll be home as soon as I can.  
                    Much love, Kiri **  
  
**_ 2\. Departure **-** After the Fall of the Lich King **  
**_Dear Fey,  
        I have seen enough of the inside of this infirmary to last me a lifetime. I don’t care what the human healers say, Light curse them. I am coming home. If you could scout for a suitable apartment that isn’t elevated, I would greatly appreciate it. In the meantime, it might be best if you could find someone willing to ready a bed downstairs in the forge. I…know I am meant to be taking care of you, still, but I am afraid I may need help.  
        If you ever catch me saying something like that again, stomp on my foot before I manage to say it, would you?  
                        Love, Kiri **  
  
**_ 3\. Return **-** Shortly After Regret **  
**_Dear Fey,_  
 _I look around this city, one I never wanted to see again, and I realize that so much has changed. If I believed Northrend bad, this is infinitely worse. The people here are so hopeless, now, under this darkened sun. I was…wrong, Feyarin. We need everyone here, if only because we cannot possibly stand alone. Not against this. Forgive me for thinking of you still as a child. I know Ilsa has taught you the coordinates to portal here. I…realize you are of an age, now, where you do not need my permission. But if you desire to aid this great endeavor, this awful bloody mess we are in, please do not hesitate to come and fight. I was a fool to think I could keep you safe._  
 _I love you._  
 _Kiri_


	21. Curse

_**Shortly After the Archdruids' Arrival in Val'sharah: Barrow Den** _

_**Dezideran and Meliraea** _

__Dezideran dreamed. He was quite deep in his patrol, soon to be woken up, take a breath of air, stretch his limbs. If he was fighting a few more nebulous monsters than usual this close to the edge of the Emerald Dream, well, there had been little surges in the past. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.  
  
If he was fighting a few more nebulous monsters than usual this close to the edge of the Emerald Dream, well, maybe it was time to aim for the heart and rip out the root.  
  
If he was fighting all these nebulous monsters this close to the edge of the Emerald Dream, well, maybe there was nothing anyone could do and he should just give up the patrol and sleep.  
  
If he was…  
  
Dezideran did not feel the tendrils of nightmare that the freed satyr wove around his bear’s form back in the physical world. He barely noticed the dark turning of his thoughts. The Nightmare seeped into the air he breathed like a curse, spilling from his paws even as he failed to notice he—or something through him—was the cause of all the monsters he was fighting.  
  
And then there was a burst of green, a scent of wildflowers, and he was struggling awake, blinking dry eyes up at the face of a night elven druid, her teal hair falling out of its braid as she concentrated on the energy that was dispelling the cobwebs of Nightmare from around his form.  
  
“Meliraea, there are more up here!” an accented voice called from the barrow above.  
  
The druid smiled at him, cutting off her spell. “You’re awake now,” she said softly, pushing herself to her feet. “You’ll be all right.”  
  
Breaking bear form, he scrubbed at the stubble on his face before standing unsteadily. Now he could feel it, the rot at the heart of this land. And he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.


	22. Secret

**_Beginning the Hunt for the Pillars of Creation: Dalaran_ **

**_Kirielle and Niniyv_ **

__“Commander!”  
  
They weren’t on Draenor anymore, but old habits die hard. Kirielle strode across Krasus’ Landing, and gripped Khadgar’s hand in a firm handshake. “Archmage, it’s good to see you.”  
  
“It’s even better to see you. There were rumors that you had finally met your match,” Khadgar said.  
  
Kirielle shook her head, unable to say anything to that. For all of Odyn’s assurances, she wasn’t sure she wasn’t dead after all. Khadgar breezed past the moment, waving at someone else behind her. “Kirielle,” he said, low, urgent, “about the demon hunters. It would be helpful if you could show your support. We need all the allies we can get in this war.”  
  
Kirielle pursed her lips. “Archmage, I don’t think I can—”  
  
“People look to you,” he said, intensely serious. “Please, Commander.”  
  
“Archmage Khadgar,” a new voice said, smooth and sure. “What a pleasant surprise.”  
  
Kirielle turned, surveying the demon hunter: dark hair, curled horns, half-smirk. Kiri let out a deep breath and swallowed heavily.  
  
“Niniyv,” Khadgar said, greetings over, “have you met Commander Kirielle Ravensmoon?”  
  
The demon hunter turned her blindfolded eyes to the warrior. Kiri shook her head, just slightly, hoping that the surrounding crowd of travelers was not paying attention. The demon hunter’s smirk widened just a bit. “I have heard good things. My old friend, Aeternita, speaks highly of Kirielle. Though it is a bit jarring to see her so…damaged.”  
  
Kirielle shook herself from her paralysis, unsure if Niniyv was referencing Kirielle’s handicap, or her mentor’s fate. “Even as a death knight, Aeternita at least, seems to have maintained her sense of morality.” It was a barb, subtle.  
  
Khadgar didn’t notice. “Kirielle, Niniyv is the head of the Illidari. She will be leading our efforts in Azsuna, coordinating her people and ours. I should probably leave the two of you to it.” He clapped his hands as if that settled it, and whisked himself away to handle something else.  
  
The two women stood on the platform, a ring of silence around them despite the noise of mounts taking off and landing. Niniyv was still watching Kiri with that slight smirk. There was something incredulous to it, now that Khadgar was no longer watching. Kirielle strode to the edge of the platform, whistling for the red drake who served as her mount. Behind her, Niniyv also took flight, her own wings carrying her out over the sea.  
  
Once they were free of most of the Dalaran traffic, Niniyv turned to Kirielle. “You are not what I expected.” She shook her head. “Forgive me, but I can think of nothing to say that isn’t completely trite.”  
  
Kirielle pursed her lips in anger, and failed to stop herself from biting back, “You lied to me, you left me, you—” she gestured to Niniyv’s horns and wings— “…and the only thing you wish to apologize for is _not knowing what to say_?”  
  
Niniyv huffed. “You could have told Khadgar—”  
  
Kirielle cut her off. “For the sake of this world, I will work with you. I will even let people know that I am working with you, and that I don’t expect a glaive in my back for it. But I _will not_ deal with the fallout of people knowing that you are my mother.”  
  
Niniyv curled her lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  
  
Kirielle looked at her. “Yeah. Your story is like a morality tale for grown-ups. Don’t dabble in dark magic—you lose everything and go to prison for all eternity.”  
  
“Or until someone decides our power is something worth having. Kirielle, I did this for you. To keep you safe. You were so young, you can’t possibly remember—”  
  
“ _For_ me? I would much rather have had a mother who stuck around, especially since Father died to protect us! To get us out, to keep us safe. And look at you!” Kirielle forced herself to relax her grip on her drake’s back, offering a gentle pat in apology.  
  
Niniyv frowned. “He got left behind. I don’t think he’s dead,” she said quietly. “He would hate to see me now.” Her voice was almost contemplative, as if the thought had never occurred to her before. Kirielle pulled ahead, beginning a circling descent into Azsuna, ignoring for the moment the thought that her father might still be alive somewhere in the Broken Isles—merely left behind when the world sundered.  
  
Niniyv flapped her wings, hard, to catch up. “If that’s truly how you feel, I cannot change your mind, Kirielle. But I am going to save this world. I’ll be glad of your help. They say you have made me proud.”  
  
Kirielle growled, “I didn’t do anything for you.”  
  
“Then allow me to do this for you,” Niniyv said. “We push this wave of demonic reinforcements back, and then, once we have coordinated our forces, I make sure you get sent after one of the artifacts the Archmage is looking for, so you don’t have to stay in Azsuna. You will have fulfilled your promise to Khadgar, and you won’t have to deal with me for any longer than necessary. No one knows we even know each other. Everyone wins.”  
  
Kirielle let out a small breath, and closed her eyes briefly, a moment’s regret. “Thank you, Mother.” Niniyv turned her head sharply, but Kirielle had already sent her mount into a dive, rapidly descending to the tainted river below.


	23. Love Letters

_**Dezideran and Niniyv** _

A Long Time Ago-

**Dezideran,**   
  
**My mother was wondering if that frost resistance potion can be modified to strengthen her late blooming flowers. Shall I drop by later to discuss?**   
  
**Niniyv**   
  
_Niniyv,_   
  
_I’d have to take a look through some of uncle’s books. I’ll run over there tomorrow. Please stop by today anyway; I’m making that pasta you like._   
  
_Dez_   
  
**Dezideran,**   
  
**How could I resist such an invitation? I’ll bring dessert.**   
  
**Niniyv**

* * *

During the Hunt for the Pillars of Creation-

_Niniyv,_   
  
_I remember when words between us were as easy as breathing, as expendable and necessary as air. I managed to salvage some of our letters from the ruin our home became when the world broke. I have kept them safe, believing them to be all that was left of you and Kirielle._   
  
_I wondered for a long time, if my family wasn’t part of the problem, all those years ago. Our casual sorcery enhanced our alchemy, but perhaps it was more than just another drop in the ocean of all the magic that swept the world away. I turned to other pursuits. You would have laughed so hard to see me struggling to learn to walk as a druid does, to cast as a druid does. I have slept so much of my life away, protecting this world, yes, but also believing that I was alone, and that I had helped to make myself so._   
  
_I dreamed often of somehow finding you and Kirielle alive. I never dreamed that you and I would take the same route. Surely embracing such magic as you have done is no different than hibernating for centuries. After all, I am no decent druid. When pressed, I fall into old familiar habits, the arcane welling deep within me in a way the natural power never quite managed. Magic is only as dark as the hand that casts it._   
  
_What I am trying to say, perhaps clumsily, is that I do not blame you for finding yourself alone, and wanting to change yourself so that you would not see the world broken again. If you can find it in yourself to forgive me for holding the way open, but being unable to follow, all those years ago, I would very much like to see you again._   
  
_With love and trepidation,_   
  
_Dezideran_   
  
**Dez,**   
  
**I—**   
  
**_Forgive you?_ For saving us? There is nothing to apologize for. I do not know if it helps, but I looked for you for years before I realized there was an insurmountable gulf between where you had remained and we had ended up. If I regret that I left Kirielle behind in my search, that I never returned to her in my despair at what the world had become—**   
  
**It hardly matters. She thinks I am some kind of monster, for taking this path. She does not remember what we lost, I think. But I will not ask you to choose between us. Speak with her first, and if you feel you will not be caught between—if you feel you can bear to face what we have become—I, too, would like to see you.**   
  
**We will save this world, Dez. And after…well, we’ll have to see what happens.**   
  
**All my love,**   
  
**Niniyv**


	24. Reunion

_**The End of the Nightmare: The Emerald Dream** _

_**Meliraea and Kirielle** _

___I am sorry to inform you that Commander Kirielle has gone missing while scouting the Broken Shore, and, with the information available to us, I can only presume that she is dead. I happened to remember that the two of you were close, and thought you ought to know…_  
  
The worn letter fell as the Emerald Dream blossomed around the druids and their allies, Xavius’ bloated form dissolving into nothing more than a fading nightmare. Meliraea pushed through the slowly dispersing crowd, all staring in wonder at the pure life that had somehow survived. At the edge of the crowd, moving slowly, wide-eyed, stood Mel’s target. There had been no time, in the lead-up to this dangerous delve into corruption, to do more than scream internally with joy when she realized that Kirielle—not dead, somehow—had arrived in response to the druids’ call for aid. If that joy had fueled a strength of healing unexpected in the heart of the Nightmare, well, so much the better. But this—this was what she had been waiting for, hoping for.  
  
Mel crashed into Kiri with the force of a charging bear, knocking them both to the ground with a resounding clank as Kiri’s shield and armor collided.  
  
“Archdruid?” a voice called, lightly concerned.  
  
Mel was too busy kissing Kiri to do more than wave a hand in acknowledgement. Slowly, they pulled apart to catch their breath, surrounded by tall, verdant grass and the smell of flowers in full bloom. There was a melancholy to Kiri’s features that even her soft smile up at Mel couldn’t fully drive away. Mel wondered what had happened. But it could wait, just this once.


	25. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little darker than the rest, and a little longer. The next two chapters follow up this same thread.

**_Before the Assault on the Tomb of Sargeras: Dalaran_ **

**_Aranola, Niniyv, and Aeternita_ **

Aranola stood on the terrace of one of the few private residences in Dalaran. As she looked out over the edge of the city, she allowed the sight of Suramar to fill her with its uncaring calm. She would be even as the elven spires, the only one of her former best friends to survive untouched, pristine, grand for ten thousand years.

The mage who owned the rooms and the terrace had been kind enough to loan Aranola his servants for the evening as well. One of the kitchen girls tapped on the door, keeping her eyes carefully downcast. Aranola smiled to think that this human girl thought her worthy of the same rank and privilege as her master.

“What is it?” Aranola asked.

“Your friends have arrived, priestess. Shall I show them up? Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.” The girl dipped a small curtsy.

“Of course,” Ara said pleasantly. “Thank you.”

The girl smiled. “Right away, then.”

Aranola turned back to her contemplation of the view, hands gripping the railing, perhaps a touch too tightly. This was, in some ways a homecoming. In others, it was a performance, as much of what Aranola did was a performance. Let the weak sunlight fall just so on the silver circlet pinning her fall of rich, violet hair. Let the faint breeze stir her lilac skirts just so around her legs. Let her shawl drape just so to accentuate her elegant posture. Perfect.

The first indication she had that her guests had arrived on the terrace was a whiff of something unpleasant. It wasn’t overpowering, not enough to name it for what it was—corruption, in all its myriad forms. She turned, the red of her tattoos glinting in the fading sunset.

“You’ve made it!” she smiled, opening her arms expansively. Her eyes flickered over Niniyv, midnight dark burning teal with the contained fel power under her skin, and then to Aeternita, her former brilliant reds washed to a cold and stale pink in death. If either was impressed by Ara’s show, they didn’t look it.

“Aranola, I was surprised to receive your invitation,” Niniyv said, blunt as ever.

Ara lowered her arms, stepping carefully towards the table she had had the servants set for them. “The last time we all saw each other, the world was ending. And somehow, the world survived. I thought it might be a hypothesis worth testing.”

Aeternita huffed a laugh. “A toast to the world unending, then?” she asked.

Aranola gestured to the glasses on the table. “I should think so.” She pulled out a chair, but then moved around so that she could take the chair with her back to the wall. She glanced between her former friends and the waiting chairs. “Shall we?”

The other two stepped fully onto the terrace. Niniyv settled in the corner with her back to the side-edge of the terrace, and Aeternita took the chair with no view, her back to the edge. Before either could say anything, Aranola offered an apologetic smile. “It’s a long story,” she murmured, “but I much prefer to have something solid behind me if I’m going to be sitting for any length of time. Drops I cannot see make me nervous.”

Niniyv and Aeternita glanced at each other. They both smiled. “We’ve all been through quite a lot. Who are we to judge?” Niniyv said. The demon hunter reached for a glass and poured for herself, then into Aranola’s offered glass. Aeternita politely accepted one as well.

Aranola raised hers. “To better times,” she said with a melancholy smile.

“To better times,” the other two responded, tapping their glasses together gently. Niniyv knocked back half the glass, while Ara watched over the rim of her glass and took a small sip. Aeternita left the liquid untouched, toying instead with the glass on the table.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between the three as the sun dipped lower. Niniyv took a breath, but was cut off from speaking by the arrival of two servant girls, bearing trays with dinner. The light pasta and salad was dressed and sauced so well, that the delicious aroma nearly drowned out the inherent unfortunate odor of Ara’s former friends.

“Thank you, that should be all we need. Feel free to take the rest of the evening off.”

“The clean-up—” the girl from earlier was bold enough to begin to ask.

Ara waved a hand. “I will see to it that it gets done.”

Murmuring thanks, the two girls left. Aranola served, filling all three plates. Niniyv, who had always favored heavier foods, nodded over a rueful smile. Aeternita again accepted politely, but did not pick up her fork.

The two women ate quietly for long moments. Eventually Aranola glanced at Aeternita. “I…” She summoned up a look of concern. “I had not realized you could not eat at all, Aeternita.”

The death knight shrugged. “Not entirely true, but it benefits me little, and serves mostly to remind me of a pleasure I no longer feel.”

“I see,” Aranola said. Niniyv was careful not to look at Ara, masking what? Aranola tilted her head, trying to discern the expression through the guise of watching the liquid swirl in her glass. Incredulity, maybe. Or contempt. 

Aranola sighed. “What would you have me do, Niniyv? I mean, look at you. Both of you. How does one…?” She artistically held back a touch of a tear. “I was overjoyed when your names reached my ears, that you had survived! To find that I was wrong—”

“Not entirely wrong,” Aeternita said. “To survive and to live seem to have different meanings, these days. I have made my peace, Aranola. Eat your pasta. I hope you enjoy it, even. Somedays, I wish I could, but.”

She looked away, staring blankly into the house. “If nothing else, I am glad to fight for the life of this world.”

Niniyv grinned, slurping a noodle. She swallowed and then said, “Me, I have no regrets. I did what needed to be done. You’d have done the same, Ara, in my shoes.”

Aranola lifted her head for a moment. She thought about protesting, but realized it didn’t really matter. Niniyv had never been one to change her mind easily.

They struggled to think of something to say in silence as Aeternita’s food grew cold and the sun fully set. A billow of smog from the Broken Shore below cut off the stars. Niniyv watched the smog roll over the sky, chair tilted back. “I wonder what’s happening now,” she mused. “It only gets this bad when something’s up. I should go—”

“Wait, please,” Aranola said. The other two women looked over at her, concerned, confused. Two shadows detached themselves from the corners of the terrace, visible only to Ara’s eyes, shrouded in Ara’s magic. Niniyv half-rose from her chair, sensing something, but it was too late for that. As she reached for a weapon she had not brought to a meeting of old friends, a knife slipped under her ribs. A second knife found Aeternita’s heart. No time to cry out. No fuss, no mess.

The two succubi threw the bodies over the edge of the terrace. Aranola stood up and made her way to the railing. For just a second, she watched her former friends as they fell. Then she turned away, fingering the soulshard that hung as a pendant under her shawl.

“Thank you for your help, initiate,” a warlock said, stepping out of the house and onto the terrace. Ara raised fel-stained eyes, no longer masked by the vestiges of the priestess’s shadow magic she still held. She bowed, slightly.

“You are certain this will help?” she asked.

The warlock chuckled, low, menacing. “The head of the Illidari is dead. That you were able to secure one of the leading death knights as well is just a bonus, and much to your credit, initiate. We have begun to purge the corruption from within the defenders ranks. Soon, soon, our bargain shall be struck. Rest assured, you and yours will be safe when the reckoning comes.”

She bowed again, as the warlock vanished into the shadows, taking the two succubi with him. Aranola returned to the rail. Leaning over, she saw nothing but turbulent water stretching below all the way to the Shore, and Suramar beyond.

 


	26. Falling

_**Following Betrayal: The Sea Below Dalaran** _

_**Niniyv and Aeternita** _

Niniyv was impressed. They’d thought to poison the blade, which was just about the only thing that was currently inconveniencing her. Dizzily, she fought to free her wings from the cloth wrap she’d artfully draped around herself to give an illusion of normalcy. Growling under her breath, she ripped the fabric away and let it fall.

Wings free, she strained to check her downward spiral. Biting back a yelp, wings flared, she gripped just a touch of her power and let it burst beneath her. The sudden updraft gave her the break she needed to right herself, while the sudden infusion of fel energy cleared her head. She caught sight of Aeternita, dropping heavily next to her. As Niniyv’s descent slowed, Aeternita slipped farther away. Niniyv dove.

It was more of a controlled fall than an actual catch, but Niniyv was able to somehow stop both of them from slamming into the rough sea below with enough force to break them. The fel of her spell drained away in the cold water, and her head began to swim again. Clumsily, her grip weakening on Aeternita, she began to move in what she thought was the direction of the shore.

Aeternita’s arms closed around Niniyv’s waist. “Come now, it’s just a little poison,” the death knight said, deadpan.

“Easy for you to say, when you don’t have any, you know, circulation,” Niniyv grumbled tugging insistently in the direction she’d been trying to go.

Aeternita hauled the demon hunter around with easy efficiency, and began to swim in the other direction. She was careful to keep Niniyv’s head above the water, taking facefulls of swirling sea herself. Niniyv leaned forward. “Lucky, really, you don’t have to breathe,” she offered, her words lacking their usual precision.

Aeternita frowned, and ducked lower in an effort to swim faster. Dark and forbidding, the edge of the Broken Shore rose slowly before them.


	27. Overwhelmed

**_Following Falling: The Broken Shore_ **

**_Dezideran, Niniyv, and Aeternita_ **

The warriors were not the only ones periodically scouting the Broken Shore. The Archdruid had sent several scouts to keep an eye on the tomb; an early warning if the hordes pouring from the breach did something more than beam up to ships to be redeployed or gather in menacing groups waiting for orders.

Dezideran had been happy to volunteer. He was still rather shaky from his brush with the Nightmare, still stiff and unpracticed in a physical body after years hibernating. Here, all he had to do was watch, and perhaps flee precipitously if he was unlucky. Carefully blending in the shadows in a crevice between two boulders, he wasn’t too worried about being spotted.

Behind him, something splashed. He froze. Slowly, his cat ears twitched, to catch the sound of something being dragged up onto the dirty sand just below his perch. Ragged breathing accompanied an influx of a pungent death smell. There was no large influx of additional demon scent to add to the overwhelming fel cocktail that wafted constantly over the Shore. Curious, Dez shifted position.

A death knight, armorless, stood on the sand. A ragged hole in her shirt was stained a foul green, but she otherwise seemed uninjured, unfazed. Lying next to her, a semi-conscious demon hunter stifled a groan.

“An’ what now? Call f’r backup?” The voice was slightly slurred, with pain, perhaps, but it was immediately familiar to Dez. He paused, suddenly uncertain. This was not how he’d meant to find Niniyv.

Aeternita—and now that he knew the one, the identity of the other was painfully obvious—squinted in the direction of the city floating away and above. “I don’t know.”

“Don’ s’pose you still have any first aid tricks?” Niniyv asked.

“Poisons rarely bother me, Niniyv, I don’t usually need to plan for treating them,” Aeternita snapped. “Sorry. I’m just. Aren’t you supposed to be,” she flapped a hand. “What was the point of turning your back on everyone if it can’t even help you through a little poison?”

Niniyv squinched her face, obviously unhappy with the question. “’T won’t kill me,” she growled. “T’s just inconvenient. F’r a bit. I’m all fuzzy. And weren’t you ok with this?”

Aeternita huffed a disparaging laugh. “What made you think I was all right with your decision? When I …woke up… I went looking for you. To think that you would leave your child, and turn to the very thing that drove us all apart…bah. We have bigger problems. The first of which is that you are flat on your back when you are supposed to be this all-powerful—”

“Not _all_ powerful,” Niniyv interjected. A brief silence fell between them. Predictably, Niniyv filled it. “Haven’t thanked you yet, h’ve I? F’r watching Kiri?”

Aeternita looked down at her. “No.”

Niniyv nodded. “Prob’ly should. When I’m thinking straight.”

“You could now,” Aeternita grumbled.

“Psssshh,” Niniyv hissed. “Wouldn’t mean asmuch, would it?”

Aeternita didn’t answer. Dezideran thought now might be a good time to point out that he was, well, eavesdropping. Especially since Niniyv had turned a little greener since they’d landed. Steeling himself, he jumped down, dropping any pretense of stealth.

Both women reached automatically for weapons they didn’t carry. Sitting, Dez raised his forepaws, shifting back to his natural shape as he did. Hands up, he said quietly, “I didn’t think I needed to be watching behind me. The bad guys are all that way.” He nodded inland.

Niniyv flung herself upright at the sound of his voice, then clutched her head. Aeternita stared at him, eyes cold and unblinking. “They still are,” she said.

“Fair point,” Dez said. “I didn’t write you any letters explaining my thoughts on…everything. To be honest, I didn’t know you were. Ah.”

“Around?” she offered, raising an eyebrow.

He turned his hands, lifting them in agreement. “I’m on your side. Bigger problems, and all that.” He once again waved inland.

“Should I leave you two to it, then?” Aeternita asked. Both she and Dez looked to Niniyv.

“This’s not how I thought this’d go,” Niniyv muttered. She looked up at Dez. “You said you were a druid now.” She half-laughed at the thought. “You got anything f’r this?” She gestured to the wound in her side.

“Casting out here is a bad idea. They’ve got magic sniffers patrolling. But I’m so clumsy at it anyway, they might just ignore the lack of threat.” Carefully he moved over to sit next to her. “Maybe if I keep it small,” he mumbled to himself, hand pressing just a hint of something vibrant and green to her side.

Niniyv hissed at his touch, drawing a ragged breath. A moment later, her color began to return to normal. Turning her head, she studied him as her mind cleared. “You look the same,” she said, quietly.

Pulling his hands back to his lap, he made a slightly strangled noise. “You don’t.”

She shrugged, turning the movement into a roll of her shoulders, stretching to see how it felt. “It made sense at the time,” she said, which was all the explanation Aeternita had gotten from her as well. She nodded up at the death knight. “Throw one her way too, could you? Even if it doesn’t circulate, I’m sure it burns at the spot.”

“Aw, you do care,” Aeternita said. “Don’t bother, Dez, it is a mild inconvenience, and you said magic might attract the demons’ attention. And we are all unarmed.”

Dez tilted his hand back and forth. “Technically, I’m armed.”

The two women shared a glance. “Somehow, that’s not very comforting,” Niniyv said, letting a gentle lilt color the phrase with a shadow of her old teasing. Relief flooded through him. They might be okay, eventually, if she could still laugh at his poor combat skills.

He grinned back. “C’mon,” he said, standing. “There are some warriors who keep a small boat just around the bend. They might let us borrow it.”

He offered Niniyv a hand up. Aeternita was already walking in the direction he had indicated. Niniyv glanced at her friend’s retreating back, then grabbed Dez’s hand. He pulled her to her feet. She was still shorter than him, even with the horns. For a long, terrible moment, they just stared at each other, utterly uncertain in a way they had never been. He reached forward, tugged her blindfold up, and met the ruin of her eyes with a soft gaze.

“What do you see?” he asked.

“A falling world. So many targets to remove in order to cleanse that world. But if you mean right in front of me?” She reached out and carefully traced a finger along his jaw. “Something tried to taint even you,” she said softly. “I can still see its echoes.”

“I’m stronger than that,” he said.

“Hmm, I believe you,” she said. “What do you see?”

“Desolation.” He sighed. “But I will try to look past what my mind is screaming is a ruin. After all, you have always been stronger. Certainly stronger than any taint.”

She shook her head slightly, disappointed. “All talk, then. Let’s go.”

“Niniyv—” He caught her arm, pulled her in, carefully burying his face in her hair, tightening his arms carefully around her back, trying to avoid wings and horns—

She froze for one long moment, before lifting her wings, ducking her head, hiding her burning eyes against his shoulder. Ten thousand years, and this would never be enough. Too much to work through, to talk about. The distance might threaten to engulf them, drag them down to drown in decisions long since made. 

Aeternita, somewhere down the beach, turned, and then stomped back. “Good to see nothing has changed,” she snapped. “You’ll have time for this later.”

It was Niniyv who let go. Maybe Aeternita was right, at that. She caught at Dez’s hand as they headed toward the warriors' hidden docking point. He didn’t pull away, smiling slightly. The three of them, together again. The odds of saving the world had just increased.


	28. Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I end with the first prompt. Thanks for sticking with my elves all the way through! Feel free to let me know if there's anything you'd like to see more fic about.

_**Before the Assault on the Tomb of Sargeras: Dalaran** _

_**Meliraea and Kirielle** _

_Moonlight glimmers on white sand. Uncorrupted. Pristine. The wind sighs in the trees somewhere back beyond the shoreline. A voice calls from the surf, battle-worn, rising above the swirling tide. Kirielle loves the water, after all. No need to stand, floating easy. Pain-free. It’s only a breath to join her, to catch her around the waist, and playfully try to pull her under…even here, Kiri is impossible to knock over, solid, comforting, and then a wave washes towards them and Kiri bends, giving Mel the moment. They chase each other for a time, salt-spray, cool water, warm breeze…_  
  
Why would it last? A ray of sunlight, bright only in its rarity, pierced the sky above Dalaran and speared into the small room. Meliraea sat up, rubbing her head, surprised to find herself free of nightmares, free of the pain they bring. She glanced to her right, reached out a careful, relieved hand and placed it in the hollow between Kiri’s shoulderblades, reveling in the simple rise and fall. The smog of the Broken Shore below billowed across the sky, cutting off the moment’s light. Kiri shifted, waking in the unnatural dimness.  
  
“I was sleeping so well,” she mumbled, scrubbing at her face. “It’s been better, since Xavius fell.”  
  
Mel got up, went to the window. It was true; however, the dreams were just a bonus. She was far more grateful that the druids' call for aid in the Nightmare had brought her missing love back. Still, the nagging darkness persisted. She glanced back at Kiri. “We’re not done yet.”  
  
“No,” Kiri said heavily. Then she smiled, brighter than the weak light of the shore. “But it certainly is nice to dream.”  
  



End file.
